


Breakdown

by Caryn_B



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9628685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caryn_B/pseuds/Caryn_B
Summary: In the middle of a personal crisis and too close to breaking point, Han Solo's saying all the wrong things. His friendship with Luke in jeopardy, Han has no idea if Luke will stay to help him pick up the pieces, or if he'll just walk out.





	

The temperature gauge is close to the red and climbing. Han Solo scrubs at his face, the prickle of sweat an aggravating distraction. He knows he'll stay cooler if he takes a seat, but the urge to move defeats logic. He paces from one side of the room to the next and then back again, over and over. Besides, the pacing is necessary. It's the only thing stopping him from banging his head against the wall. Or shouting until he's hoarse. Or smashing his fist into the durasteel door that's keeping him in ignorance and isolation.

They've abandoned him here. All the med droids and doctors. Left him alone to work through his anger and confusion, but it's proving a futile task. He can feel the rage building, layer on layer. And it's interleaved with other layers. Disbelief. Guilt. Denial. Self-reproach. It's only a matter of time before his emotions explode, and Han's past caring what happens to anything that gets in the way. Or anyone.

He knows he only has himself to blame. He's scared them all away with his counterproductive anger, and now he knows nothing. Maybe they'll keep it that way to teach him a lesson.

The hiss of the far door stops Han in his tracks. He swivels around to stare at the arrivals. Luke, synthfoam cups of caf in his hands. The doctor, Sa-Kyruua, her face a mask of professional calm and her demeanor imperturbable. Her appearance gives little away, the serene blue hue of her skin almost uniformly even. Apart from her lethorns, marked as they are by flushed patches of darker blue. Han homes in on them, recognizing the signs of Chagrian unease, and it adds another layer inside – dread.

He meets the two halfway across the room. Locks eyes with Luke and feels himself falter, just like always. But this time it's only for a moment, because his mind is consumed with other thoughts.

"What's happening?" It's his own voice, but Han hears how it's changed. Not just rough from shouting, but altered. It sounds fractured. Irrevocably broken. It matches how he feels inside.

Sa-Kyruua's voice is the opposite. Calculated to soothe. A well-practiced, mellifluous flow of empty words. Han only listens to some of them. It's hard to hear through the blood pounding in his head, but he catches the drift.

They know nothing yet. They'll know nothing for hours. 

He feels Luke's hand on his arm. Lets himself be led to the bank of seats. Cool plasteel. Clinically clean. They smell of disinfectant, like the rest of the room. Disinfectant and bacta. He'll smell those in his dreams for weeks. Along with blood, and scorched flesh, and singed fur.

A cup of caf is in his hands, though he doesn't recall taking it. He looks down at it, watching the curl of steam and slowly dissipating bubbles. It has no aroma that he can discern. The thought of drinking it makes his stomach heave, and he feels Luke shift closer in unspoken empathy.

Luke's voice is as calm as the doctor's. He asks the questions that Han should be asking, but he doesn't ask the only thing Han wants to know. No-one asks that, because they all think it's unanswerable. Or maybe they're afraid of the answer. Abruptly, he hauls himself to his feet and feels the burn of spilt caf on his leg. He hurls the cup across the room. The contents seep across the once pristine floor. A spreading brown stain, satisfyingly ugly.

"Let's cut the crap." His voice is a snarl, a close approximation to his old voice, but it's still broken. "Is he gonna make it?"

Han wants to rattle the doctor's poise. Wants to shake up her measured tones. He wants to know that she cares. But she's even calmer than before. He knows she's used to such situations – she's been part of the rebellion for years. "We're doing everything we can," she says. "The surgery needed is complex. He lost a great deal of blood–"

Han's back to pacing. "I know all that! I know about the damn blood!" And he does. He was covered in it. His clothes soaked with it. He tried to stem it but it kept coming out. An artery, they told him later. They gave him a change of clothes, but the blood's still on his skin, dried and flaking. He doesn't want to wash it off. "I want a straight answer, but no-one's givin' me one."

"The med-droids have only just begun surgery. There's extensive internal bleeding. Some major organ damage."

A red haze of fury clouds Han's vision. He kicks the bank of seats. It's a hard, brutal kick but he doesn't register the pain. Luke's trying to stop him but Han pushes him away. He focuses on the assessing gaze of the doctor, but he's unnerved by the sympathy he detects in her eyes. With difficulty he chokes back his anger, formulates his request in a new way. "I want your opinion, not some set speech. What are his chances?"

Han watches a deepening flush creep down Sa-Kyruua's lethorns and he already knows what she's going to say. 

"I believe... he has only a small chance."

"So he _is_ gonna die." Han marvels at how calm he sounds.

"It's likely. I'm very sorry."

"I need to see him."

She shakes her head. "That's not possible–"

"Now! Before it's too late!" Han's at the durasteel door. He feels his fists against it but it remains unyielding. Uncompromising. Locked from the inside to keep him out. There's no response from within. No observation window. No indication of progress.

The pounding in his head gets louder but he can still hear the doctor talking to Luke. Snatches of whispered conversation that maybe he's not meant to hear. Perhaps they think he's oblivious.

_... away from here ... needs some rest ... won't know anything for several hours ... disturbing the droids... more harm than good ..._

"I'm not gonna leave, so don't waste your time suggestin' it!" Han turns around to face them both. Luke's standing back but the distance is physical only. The strength of Luke's support is clear to Han, but Han's not yet ready to accept it. His anger's the only refuge he wants right now, and both Luke and the doctor are seeking to deny him that. 

Sa-Kyruua approaches him, unruffled. "I'm not asking you to leave for your sake. I'm asking it for Chewbacca's sake." She gestures towards the durasteel door. "They can hear you in there. Do you want to interrupt the surgery? Cause a distraction that might prove fatal?"

"I thought the outcome was a foregone conclusion." Han hears the dullness in his voice. Wonders why he sounds so defeated all of a sudden. It's not like him. He's a fighter. Always has been. As long as there's something worth fighting for.

"No," the doctor says. "There's still that small chance, but let it be the best possible one. Leave the droids to work uninterrupted. Find a quiet room – one with a functioning air-cooler – and take some time out."

Han leans back against the door, a wash of exhaustion stealing his words. He nods to Sa-Kyruua. Just once, but it's enough to reassure her. She gives him a quiet smile but doesn't lace it with additional sympathy. For that, Han's grateful. Too much would push him over the edge, and he's certain she knows that.

"You should find someone to stay with you. A family member? Friend?"

Han doesn't answer. There's no need, and there's no need to catch Luke's eye for confirmation. He does it anyway, but only because Luke's there by his shoulder.

"Thank you," Luke says. It's directed towards the doctor, but Han thinks it's mainly for him.

Sa-Kyruua inclines her head. "If there's any news – of any sort – I'll let you know immediately. No need to keep checking with me, but if you want to talk..." She presses a datacard into Han's hand. Her private contact details. 

***

Han concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other but his legs make hard work of it. It feels like walking in heavy gravity. The cool air of the corridor dries the sweat on his forehead but doesn't shift his new-found lethargy. He'd like to be able to fall asleep and for all this to be over when he wakes.

"We can go to my room," Luke suggests. "It'll be quiet. Away from everyone."

"Okay." Han's amazed he's managed even a word. Something heavy and dark is settling over him. A kind of malaise that's smothering his anger, and he doesn't want that. He digs deep inside, searching for the vitality of his earlier rage, but it's too much effort. He stops in the corridor. Holds a hand against the wall for support. 

Luke waits in silence and something inside Han sees it for what it is and permits him the tiniest flicker of warmth. Because Luke knows him. He knows when to give Han space, and he knows when Han needs to talk. And even though Han's barely managing to think things through, he's able to hold Luke's gaze and communicate his gratitude without uttering a word. He wishes it was enough. That he could accept Luke's support and leave it at that. But it isn't enough. It's never been enough.

Luke's taken him a long way round, through a labyrinth of corridors and barely-used rooms. Han's paid no attention to their route and couldn't retrace their footsteps to find his way back. But he knows they've avoided their friends by coming this way, and he feels the uncomfortable edge of relief. Because they're too well meaning and too full of concern. Wanting to support him where he can't be supported. Wanting to share what Han's not yet ready to share. 

They reach Luke's room and Han's bemused because he doesn't remember walking the rest of the way. Inside, the room looks the same as always but Han thinks it can't be. Stepping inside Luke's room has always affected him in strange, contradictory ways. Made him feel at peace, but always on edge. Secure, but oddly unsettled. Content, but still dissatisfied. Today, in the same room, everything's unbalanced. There's no semblance of peace or contentment, and that old sense of security must've been an illusion, because now it's gone. He feels cheated even though he knows it's unreasonable, and it rekindles his smoldering anger. He welcomes it, but it's only a flicker still, not sufficient to burn away his exhaustion. He searches inside himself for something to feed the flames. Finds it in the recollected words of Sa-Kyruua.

" _Family member?_ Most of us don't _have_ any family! They're all dead or so fucked up they don't deserve the title. Most of us are here 'cause we'd be freakin' _lost_ anywhere else!"

Han places his hands on the narrow ledge below the window and stares out, unseeing, glad that it's all starting again. The seething, bubbling pit of rage inside him wants an outlet, and Luke's the only one here to take the brunt of it.

He turns round to face Luke. "I'd call you an exception, but I ain't sure your family fit the bill." The attack is unjustified and Luke doesn't deserve it, but the sudden, urgent need to provoke is there in front of his eyes like a thick grey fog and the only way through it is to fight. Han doesn't know where it's come from, but it's as though the trauma of the past few hours has combined with all the disillusionment and frustration of the past year, and it's turning into something he can't control. And maybe something he doesn't _want_ to control.

Luke doesn't rise to the bait. He rarely does, and even if Han's words have hurt him he won't let it show. Han knows it takes more than a throwaway remark to rile Luke these days because, just as Luke is familiar with the side of Han that demands something more from him, Han is familiar with the side of Luke that refuses to give it. 

"Most of my family are dead too," Luke says. There's no inflection in his voice. No hint of recrimination or regret. Just Luke talking in his new Luke voice. The post-carbonite Luke, as Han thinks of him. Prior to Han's incarceration, Luke had been an inexhaustible source of chatter and enthusiasm. That person had vanished without trace when Han resurfaced. 

Han doesn't want to push it, but some deep-rooted urge to take it further overrides common sense. He doesn't know how to stop himself. It's as though his broken self is fracturing into a million pieces, and every unwanted and unwarranted thought is escaping through the cracks. If he's going to shatter, then he wants Luke to shatter with him.

"But ain't the two of you better for having known your father!" Han hears the scathing derision in his voice and reproaches himself for letting it happen, but it feeds his anger and fulfils an immediate need. 

There's a marked hesitation this time, but Luke's words, when they come, are as composed as ever. "That's probably true. It's taken me a while to realize it though."

"Well that's just great, but we don't all feel that way about him."

Something flashes in Luke's eyes, and Han feels simultaneous pangs of regret and satisfaction. Regret, because there's a deep, untapped well of guilt within Luke that stems from events in Cloud City, and Han's always known to tread lightly. Now he's kicked aside Luke's defences with one vicious remark. He knows he should apologize, and the reality is that he doesn't even feel what his words imply. He certainly doesn't blame Luke for his encounter with Vader, but he knows full well that Luke feels to blame. But the accompanying stab of satisfaction freezes his apology in his throat. He wanted a response from Luke and now he's got one. Having found a way in with his knife, he's ready to twist it.

"At least I came out of it okay. That's more 'n I can say for you."

Luke shakes his head slowly. "Don't," he says.

"Don't what? Don't speak the truth? Hide it away and pretend everything's perfect?"

"Is that what you think I do?"

"I don't just _think_ it. Take a good look at yourself one day. You might see what I'm talkin' about."

"I do what I have to in order to get by," Luke says. His voice is quiet but the edge Han hears beneath it makes his skin prickle. It's the closest Luke's ever come to admitting an inner turmoil. "We all do that," Luke adds. "Even you."

"I don't wanna just _get by_. That ain't what it's about. It's about livin' and feelin' and doing stuff. If you're so fucked up you wanna shut yourself away from people, then that's your problem. Don't project all your issues onto me like your sister tried to."

Han registers the flare of emotion that crosses Luke's face, and it causes a sharp twinge of something like anguish inside. He wants to walk away, pretend he never said it, but at the same time he wants to push his point home. Because, as with Vader, they can't talk about Leia. Not properly. Not about the things Han needs to talk about. Like the messy, turbulent disaster area their relationship became before it buckled under the sheer weight of unspoken truths and never-admitted longings for something else. Leia's one of Luke's invisible barricades. One of several. Leia. Vader. The Emperor. Cloud City. Dismemberment... Han shakes his head, takes a step away from the window, but Luke's there before he can take another, blocking his path. "We can talk about this now, if that's what you want," Luke says, "or we can accept that you're hurting and this is going nowhere."

It's his chance to say the things he wants to say. Luke's given him an opening, and maybe any other time Han would've taken it. But all his abilities to see straight, to reason and to reconcile have vanished, consumed by an overload of anger that's capable only of wounding. "Going nowhere's what you do best, so why don't we take that option?"

He's said the words, but Han doesn't think them. Doesn't believe them. Something inside him tells him Luke can't believe them either, but even so, Han knows he's gone too far. He recognizes that in Luke's too-still demeanor and the instant withdrawal he sees in Luke's eyes. It's the one reaction Han can't handle. He pushes Luke backwards, as if in shoving him away he can eradicate not only his ugly words but all the events of the past few hours. 

Once again, Han thinks that at any other time things might've gone differently. That Luke would've let them carry on as though nothing had been said. But nothing's normal about today, and Luke doesn't let Han past. Instead, he grips Han's arms and before Han's drawn another breath he feels the wall at his back, and there's nowhere to go and nowhere to look but straight into Luke's eyes. "You don't have to do this," Luke says. 

The words are simple, and there's an appeal there, in that gaze that holds him in place, but Han's not sure what it's an appeal _for_. On the surface it's obvious. Stop lashing out. Stop trying to hurt because you're hurting. But there's something in Luke's eyes that tells Han it's more complicated than that. He'd work it out if he could, but the hold Luke has on him makes that impossible.

Impossible, because Han's focus has narrowed to the sheer, physical presence of Luke, and to the strength of the grip that has him pinned against the wall. But instead of disconcerting him, the awareness floods him with an abrupt, consuming need that's even more compelling than his anger. It's like a flash fire of heat that's swallowed him whole and spat him out, leaving him raw and exposed, with all his secrets breaking loose and demanding to be heard.

The wanting is nothing new. It's been with him so long it's as familiar as breathing, but in the circumstances it's so unexpected and so acute that it silences Han completely. He stays there, watching the entreaty in Luke's eyes turn to puzzlement, but still he says nothing. He tries to deflect his thoughts by imagining what's going through Luke's mind – that there's an element of truth in Han's accusations, but that Han's too full of anger and grief to know when to stop? That it's all too understandable and that Luke knows him well enough to find it excusable?

But Han doesn't want to be excused. And does anyone ever really know anyone else? Han's not even sure he knows himself any more. And this is _Luke_ standing before him. His friend. His almost brother (before he fucked that other relationship up well and good). Those things have meant enough to him in the past for him to keep his far-from-platonic feelings contained. Now they're running riot, and laughing in the face of his pretense. Telling him it's no longer an option to hide this from Luke. That Han can't accuse Luke of holding things back if he's not prepared to be open in return. And that Luke's not the only one left wondering, after all the changes and upheavals, just where he fits in.

The arguments are persuasive, but even in Han's current frame of mind it's not so easy to discard the reasoning that's worked to keep their friendship on a familiar footing. And there's just enough of a cautioning voice in Han's head to make him waver. A warning that maybe Han's looking to offload some responsibility for his feelings onto Luke. As things stand, Luke has no reason to guess the nature of Han's thoughts, and Han determines to keep it that way.

The resolution almost works, but then Luke seems to notice his pinioning hands for the first time. It's as though he checks himself, Han thinks, and something within Han starts to tear apart faster. Because he's done this to Luke. He's got under his skin, and now he's made him doubt himself, and Luke's never needed help to do _that_. Han's screwing up the both of them because he can, and he's willfully setting them on some self-destructive path because he's not prepared to fall alone. Luke's barely moved his hands away before Han reaches out and grabs one of his wrists.

"Don't pull away from me now!" His words are low, hissed out with a ferocity that drowns out the cry for help.

"Then don't force me to." Luke sounds distant, like he's trying to get outside himself. Recover that equilibrium that he's admitted keeps him going. He's only inches away from Han but it feels like miles, and Han wants him back. 

"I should've gone first. It don't make sense this way." The words are unconnected to his thoughts, but Han's playing for time. He tightens his hold on Luke's wrist, but Luke makes no attempt to break away.

"Things like this never make sense," Luke says. It seems like a response to Han's statement, but Han's not convinced it is. Not fully.

"D'you know how long Wookiees usually live for?"

"Not exactly," Luke admits. "A few hundred years."

"And that's a helluva lot longer than me," Han says. "I'm a blink of an eye to him – he ain't even half way through his life." Han hears the crack in his voice. Knows that grief is about to take over. He struggles against it. Doesn't want it yet. There'll be too much time for that later on.

"I know." 

Luke's voice is soft, and once again his words are ambiguous, at least to Han. Just what does Luke know? That Han's about to disintegrate? That maybe Luke can keep that from happening, if only for a few short moments? He speaks before he can stop himself. "Just wanna forget for a while."

Luke nods. "I understand."

But he doesn't. He really doesn't. The old Han might've been amused, but that Han's been missing since the Falcon's gun turret took the hit and Chewie fell silent. "So help me out," Han says.

Luke glances at his wrist, still held captive in Han's fist, then looks back up at Han. "Anything you want. You know that."

And Luke still doesn't understand. There's no reason why he should. They've never broached the subject. Never made a move towards each other except in friendship. But isn't that what this is? An extension of friendship? Or is Han just kidding himself in an attempt to justify what he knows will be an unreasonable demand? Is it because he can't see beyond today? That he doesn't think there's any point in wondering how this might affect them? They could play around with words, but there isn't time for that. Han's been stripped of every defence he ever had and all that's left is brutal honesty. Their friendship will have to survive or die on that basis.

"I _don't_ know that. Sure, you're here with me now, in this room, but you ain't _with_ me. Not really." He taps at his head. "Not in _here_!" 

"I _am_ with you. I want to help."

"Yeah, part of you! Just one fucking part!" Han yanks Luke's wrist forward, but instead of moving closer to him, Luke takes a step back. "See? It's like you're afraid to get close to me."

"I'm not afraid. I just–"

"Then prove it!" Han pulls again on Luke's wrist, and this time Luke steps forward, just a breath away from Han's face. "Get close to me!" He uses his free hand to point, with explicit intent, towards Luke's bed. "Right now, for real. You said you'd do anything for me. Well that's what I want!"

A look of sheer disbelief passes over Luke's face but he doesn't pull away or attempt to free his wrist. His incredulity stretches out before he speaks, and then, it's only a single word. " _What_?"

Han's sure he's understood, so he doesn't bother to repeat himself. "It's up to you. Just say yes or no. I don't wanna talk about it." And he doesn't. He can't. Even though he knows it's not that simple, and it won't be that simple to Luke. He feels like he's teetering on the edge of meltdown. And he needs that oblivion. Needs someone to push aside, just for a short while, all those layers of guilt and sadness and anger that are threatening to drag him under. 

The silence from Luke expands until it feels like a challenge, but Han's already aware of what he's done. He's burnt all his bridges and played with the trust Luke has in him. Demanding a yes or no answer, and pretending he's given a way out by asking Luke to make a choice. To Luke it must seem like emotional coercion, and even though, deep down, that's not what Han intended, he knows he's been manipulative. The mess he's created means whatever answer Luke gives they'll end up losing. Too late, he drops Luke's wrist. It feels more like a rejection than an attempt to appease, but there's no reason he can think of why that would bother Luke now. 

"Just to be clear," Luke says at last, and the slow deliberation of his words fails to mask the uncertainty in his voice. "You want to–"

Han cuts him off, finding an answer to a question Luke surely wasn't about to ask. "Fuck you? No." Words. More stupid words. Stupid, because now he's not going to know what Luke was about to say, and because he's losing Luke. He's watching that closed-in expression take over completely and sensing Luke moving even further away from him because Han can't stop coming out with stupid words.

A moment ago he hadn't thought it'd be possible to add further insult to the heap he's piled on Luke already. Exploiting Luke's innate desire to help by forcing him into a corner he'd never asked, or expected, to go near. Then hitting him with words that signify rejection, whatever light he tries to shine on them. And it's not because he doesn't want Luke. He's simply too close to collapsing under the weight of his self-destructive guilt to take that chance right now. But Luke most likely believes Han's set him up in order to cut him down, and now he'll probably turn around and leave. The idea is unthinkable but it's the only solution that makes any sense. Part of him knows he needs to stop talking, but the other part tells him he owes it to Luke to set things straight. 

"It ain't like that," he says, aware that the phrase is as good as meaningless. "It's just... I was askin' _you_ to do it. But feel free to tell me to go to hell."

Han watches Luke close his eyes, the crease of a frown between his brows and the hitch of a breath the only signs that Han's words have found a way through his increasing detachment. He's told Luke the truth, but it's more than just simple need. He wants Luke to isolate him from everything around them. To use all that latent strength and energy to postpone the catastrophe that's waiting to happen. To fuck him until he can't think straight. Until he forgets where he is and why he's here.

Luke opens his eyes, his expression unfathomable. "Is this... about punishing yourself?"

Out of the whole muddle of misunderstanding and hurt that Han's brought about, the idea that Luke might see himself as some kind of penance hits Han hard. It's far from the case, but Han understands why Luke's asked. It goes back to guilt, and they both know too much about that. And maybe Luke can see what Han really wants, and how he needs Luke to break the hold that guilt has over him, even if it gives only temporary respite. But it's not the same as punishment. Not even close. Complicated explanations and excuses are beyond his capacity right now, and all he can manage is a basic denial and a shake of his head. "No."

Luke nods, and Han knows it's clarification enough. But Luke's question has done more than confound Han. It's made him see sense. If there's any comfort to be had, it's that at least he knows he's capable of something other than a self-seeking lack of control, even if it's too late to erase the harm he's done. He twists round to face the wall. Leans his forehead against the cool stucco. He's seconds away from falling but he has to try to fall alone. 

"Get outta here. Better that way. I can't be with anyone right now." It's Luke's room of course, but he's sure neither of them will care about the details.

"I'm not going anywhere," Luke says.

"Then _I'll_ go." Han closes his eyes and concentrates on the wall, trying to shut out everything else around him. If he tries hard enough it might even work.

"No." 

"Listen – you think I can't screw things up more? Stick around and you'll find out I can!" An image crawls into his head, unwanted but insistent. Han, yelling out his fear and grief, shouting at Chewbacca. Blood everywhere. _Don't you dare die on me..._

He's trying to make a sound. One that started hours ago, deep inside, but hasn't been able to get past his layers of rage. Something like a sob. He doesn't finish it. Doesn't have time. His back's against the wall again, and Luke's hands are on his shoulders, his grip hard and purposeful. 

"No, _you_ listen to _me_ ," Luke says. His eyes are too full of everything, or maybe they're full of nothing. Han doesn't know. Either all they've been through together counts for something, or it no longer counts for anything. Han wants to say something. Tell Luke how sorry he is. Apologize for the chase of emotions behind Luke's eyes. For the way he's systematically torn things apart. But he can't get the words out before Luke starts speaking again. "You're not gonna get rid of me that easily. The stuff you're saying – I understand where it's coming from and it's okay. It doesn't matter!"

"Maybe it matters to me," Han says. "Dunno why you haven't walked out on me." 

Luke shakes his head, and there's a trace of exasperation there. "Would _you_ have walked out on _me_?" he asks.

It's not really a question because they both know the answer, but as an argument it fails for Han. "Come on, that game ain't gonna work," he says. "No way you'd ever've treated me like that."

"I'm not playing games, but if you won't answer then I'll answer for you. No, you wouldn't, and you know why, just like you know why I won't." His hands are still on Han's shoulders and his grip is beginning to exert an almost painful pressure.

"Because we're friends? We're s'pposed to support each other? 'cause you trust me?"

"Sure, all those things, but–"

"Trust me to do what, huh? Not fuck everythin' up? I ain't exactly lived up to that!"

"I don't expect you to live up to anything!" 

"One time you did."

Luke drops his hands from Han's shoulders and if feels like another loss to Han, even if he can still feel the imprint of Luke's fingertips, like they've branded his flesh through layers of cloth.

"It wasn't like that. We'd only just met and we went through that all that mess together! I'd already seen through all that... act you put on."

"I dunno how much of an act it was..."

"I'm talking about the way you made out you didn't care about anything except yourself. I knew it wasn't true, and I just wanted you to admit it. And maybe... maybe I just didn't want you to leave."

Han hesitates, because he's no idea where this is all leading, and he's no idea what Luke's really saying. That he's been wrong about Han all these years, or that he's been right? "So back then you decided I wasn't some selfish asshole out for what I could get?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Though you did your best to try and prove me wrong!"

Yesterday, Han would've grinned and rolled his eyes at Luke's remark. Today, all he can do is grimace and wonder if, after all this time, he's finally given Luke that proof. He leans back into the wall, grateful for its support. "And what about now?" 

"How long have we known each other?" Luke demands. 

Han's mind's gone blank, which is nonsensical because he usually knows the answer to that. Knows it almost down to the last day. He shrugs. "Five years? What the hell difference does it make? Five years? Five months? Five days? What if it was five minutes? Would that make it okay?"

"It's five years," Luke says quietly. "And you can't wipe out five years of friendship with a few words."

"Was more'n a few words."

"Right, but these aren't exactly normal circumstances. I know how hard this is for you – can't you see that?"

Luke's talking about Chewie of course, but part of Han – the selfish part probably – wants Luke to be talking about what's happening here and now. "I can see you're just as stubborn now as you were five years ago," he mutters.

"Why, because I'm still here? We need to stick together through this, not tear each other apart!"

Han shakes his head. "It's me who's–"

"It's both of us!" Luke interrupts. He pauses for a moment, looks down at the floor and then back up at Han. "Some of the things you said... maybe they needed saying."

"Come on, I was outta line and we both know it," Han mutters.

Luke shakes his head, just a little, as though negating Han's words. "I know things haven't been the same since... well, since Bespin. I know it seems like I've changed."

"Ain't just down to you. We've all changed."

"Some of us more than others," Luke says. "And I'm sorry, 'cause I know you think I don't talk to you anymore. Not like I used to."

"You've got your reasons. I can accept that." He can't, of course, and Luke can see that just as clearly as Han sees it, but Luke's admission is the furthest he's gone in addressing the existence of those invisible barricades. Han's prepared to take what he can get for now.

It feels a bit like a truce. Or maybe it's just an impasse, because Luke's not saying anything further, and without his anger to drive his words, Han's no longer sure what he wants to say. Whatever it is, they stand in silence for several seconds, not comfortable but not fully at odds either. 

"Luke..." Han lets his voice taper off, uncertain where he's going but feeling compelled to speak, if only because he's the cause of everything that's transpired between them today.

"We should take a step back." Luke's voice is taut, but Han's sure there's the suggestion of a smile in there.

Luke's right, and everything in Han's head shouts agreement, but somehow he ends up saying something entirely different. "Never cared about what I _should_ do." 

"I know," Luke says. "But we're both too wound up. Sooner or later one of us is–"

"–gonna say something we might regret? A bit late for that, ain't it?"

"Are you talking about you, or about me? It's not always clear."

"Last time you asked me to be clear you got more 'n you bargained for," Han points out. 

This time Luke's smile is visible, even though it's the merest trace of one. "I'll take that risk."

Han moves away from the wall and away from Luke, driven by an impulse to pace the room again. "You wanna list of things I regret saying? I can give you one, but I think you already know. That stuff about you 'n Vader..."

"I told you, it doesn't matter about any of that."

Han stops walking and turns his gaze on Luke. "And _I_ told _you_ it matters to _me_." He keeps his eyes on Luke. "And yeah, I'm sorry about what I said... before. Y'know... what I asked. 'cept probably not for the reasons you think."

"You don't know what I think."

"I could make a pretty good guess, but I'm gonna stick to facts seein' as I'm being clear. Like the fact I shouldn't have suggested going to that supply dump."

"You didn't know it was a set-up. You can't blame yourself."

"It was my call! How many years did I spend runnin' around with a price on my head? And now I forget everything I learned about watchin' my back? Trouble is, it wasn't just _my_ back was it?"

"If we'd treated every offer of help as a trap we'd never've gotten anywhere. Most of our supplies have come from drops like that."

"I fucked up," Han says. "You can argue about it all you like, but that's how it is and Chewie's payin' the price."

Luke isn't arguing with him. Han knows that, just as he knows that essentially, Luke's right. There's no way he _could_ have known, but all the reasoning in the galaxy isn't going to make a difference. And now he's run out of words again, partly because there doesn't seem to be anything left to say, and partly because it's starting to hit him, all over again. He sits down, slowly, on the edge of Luke's bed. Wants to sink his head into his hands and blank everything out, but he already knows it won't work. Instead, he pulls his comlink out of a pocket and stares at it, wondering at its protracted silence.

"You told 'em not to contact me," he states at last, looking up at Luke. He's talking about Lando. Wedge. All the Rogues. The ground crew. The techies who've helped on the Falcon. Anyone and everyone who might want to know.

Luke sits down beside him. "I told a few of the guys. Asked them to spread the word. You've got enough to deal with without everyone trying to get hold of you."

"Thanks." Han tosses the comlink down on the bed. He attempts a smile but can't make it happen. Instead, he takes hold of Luke's wrist for a second time, but this time his grip is bordering on gentle. He doesn't stop to think, driven only by a wish to make amends. He lifts Luke's wrist to his lips and kisses the inside, just once. It's like nothing he's ever done before, and Han's struck by how the briefest of actions can feel like an admission of everything he's sought to hide. Like laying bare the deepest of secrets. 

If Luke's startled by the gesture, he doesn't let it show, but Han senses something like a shiver graze the surface of his composure. It feels like hope and Han can't move, his gaze locked on Luke.

There's a pause that extends into stillness, but it's a silence that resonates with unspoken thoughts and a tension borne of the unexpected. Han takes a breath, but it's Luke who speaks first. "Do you still... want an answer from me?"

Han knows what he needs to say. That he was wrong to demand anything from Luke, let alone an answer. That they should heed Luke's advice and take a step back. That all Han wants from Luke is a chance to put things right. But the stumble in Luke's words waylays Han, and that tiny glimmer of hope latches onto it and sweeps aside the reasoned responses to leave him with no reply at all.

There's the shortest of moments when Han experiences a piercing regret, for all that he's thrown away and all that he's changed. It's also a moment of certainty amongst all those of uncertainty, when he's totally sure that they'll never resolve this. It occurs in the time between Luke sitting beside him, as still as stone and just as unreadable, and Luke moving towards him. The moment's already passed and forgotten by the time Luke's lips touch Han's, and the only certainty Han has left is in knowing that he has Luke's answer. 

For several drawn out seconds, it's a tentative kiss. Like two strangers circling each other, not knowing how to behave or how to react. Everything is unfamiliar, from the roughness of stubble above Luke's upper lip, to the sudden warmth of Luke's nearness, and to the lingering scent of smoke from the Falcon that clings to Luke. But then Luke's hand reaches up and frames Han's jaw, and it's like a moment of sudden recognition. That this is Luke, and not a stranger, and he's making everything real between them. 

The knowledge shudders through Han and reverberates from him to Luke and back again. The uncoiling hunger inside him is as fierce and insistent as Luke's kiss has become, and it flares up, enveloping and merging with his layers of anger. It's everything that's right, but it's everything that's wrong. He's in danger of losing control as rapidly as Luke's composure is crumbling. He takes a grip of Luke's arms and pushes him away in one gasped movement, holding him at arm's length.

"Are you sure you–"

"Yes, I... just... lie back on the bed." 

The raw unsteadiness of Luke's words floods Han's veins with a shocking, molten heat that pools deep inside. "You need to get something," he rasps. He's jumping way too far ahead, unable to stop himself, but it doesn't matter. They both know where they're headed now.

Through the widening gaps in Luke's self-control words trip up over themselves. "What...? I've never... I don't..." 

"I don't care what. Just... get anything. But get it now, and be quick." Han doesn't want to think about the alternative. Luke disappearing later, having second thoughts. Leaving Han alone for long moments at a time, with space to allow his thoughts to re-invade his mind. 

Han stays sitting, fixed in place, and Luke has vanished from his sight. Part of him wants to move. Wants to follow Luke, but his legs feel as heavy as his head. He lies down on the bed and closes his eyes.

Then there's the warmth of a breath against his cheek, and the brush of lips against his mouth, and that's all it takes to break free from his sudden stupor. He wraps a hand round Luke's neck and holds him there, searching for the vulnerability he knows Luke's hidden away because he thinks Han won't want that.

When it was little more than a fantasy, Han knew what he wanted. He focussed on the one side of Luke that could overpower everything with sheer physical and mental strength. But faced with the reality of Luke, he's seeing Luke for what he is, and not what Han conjured up in a moment of bleakness. There's still the strength and the power and the determination, but there are also the insecurities and the doubts. And even though Luke's more than capable of showing only a tough, hardened edge, Han wants him as much for his compassion and his generosity and his courage. For his fears and his nightmares and for the loneliness that Han knows is in there. He needs to make this clear, but he doesn't know how. He already knows that however he phrases it, it'll be inadequate. "It only matters that it's you," he ends up saying. 

"Han..." Luke says, but stops at that single word. His eyes search Han's face, and Han wonders if he's understood. It feels imperative to make it clear. 

"I don't care about anythin' else. Just that it's you." He doesn't wait to see if Luke responds, but pulls Luke down towards him, finding Luke's mouth with his own.

It still feels new and different, but less so than before, and the increasing familiarity generates a different sort of change. Where moments ago Han was somewhere in the middle of acceptance and denial, now he's struck by how totally right it seems. He's wanted this for so long that it's easy to believe Luke feels the same way, but in truth Han doesn't know how Luke feels. He only knows that Luke's here with him because he wants to be, and that Luke will do whatever he can to keep Han from falling. 

And now Luke's starting to fill his head, crowding out those sounds and images that Han wants to forget. The blood and the pain and the sudden, shocking silence. He knows that later on they'll come crashing back, but for now he lets them go, chased away by the resonance of his own low moan and the catch of a breath from Luke. 

It's building between them, a form of pressure that's come from tension of a very different kind, and very soon Han knows it will turn unstoppable. Luke's right on top of him, his mouth first on Han's lips, then moving across Han's jaw. Han feels the press of Luke's body against his, feels the heat even through layers of clothing. He fights to feel everything. The angularity of Luke's hipbones, the demands of his knees against Han's. The hard push of Luke's erection makes Han gasp, painful arousal tightening inside him.

He grips Luke's hips, grinding up against him, and Luke groans. And then Han can't let go, fingers digging in hard, moving against Luke with an urgency that's far too soon. It's not what he wants, but he doesn't think he can stop.

It's Luke who stops it, as fiercely as Han tries to prevent him. He pushes away from Han's grip until he's kneeling on the bed, legs straddling Han's hips, the inside of his thighs just barely touching Han. He forces Han's arms down on the bed and holds them there. Han feels it then, Luke's strength. He's seen it before of course. Knows it exists. But he's never really been the focus of it, and now he has he understands that it's something extraordinary. An ability to overpower and to subdue, and Luke's used only a fraction of it on Han. And if Han once thought he wanted that, he had no clue as to just how much. His words break free, rough, disjointed, full of need. 

"Hell– yeah–. Come on Luke–"

Luke's gaze is pinning him down as effectively as his hands, and he takes a sharp breath like he's struggling for control. He keeps one of Han's wrists pinioned, but lets the other one go. Han feels the tingle of blood in his fingertips as his circulation returns in full. 

With his free hand, Luke reaches for the fasteners on Han's shirt. Opens them up one by one with short, deliberate tugs that make Han shift edgily beneath Luke, searching for more contact. Luke's hand on his chest stops Han's movements, even though Luke's touch is only light. Just the flat of his hand, grazing down slowly from his collar bone to his abdomen, then traveling further, unfastening Han's weapons belt. When Luke reaches down to unfasten the snaps on the leg belt, his hand brushes the inside of Han's thigh, and Han groans aloud at the clenching hunger that's eradicating everything in its path bar its single-minded goal.

It's a hunger that's renders him capable only of watching as Luke struggles with the fasteners of his own tunic. The hand that Luke pinioned just moments before stays where it is, as though Han's unable to move it, but he knows his eyes are burning a path across Luke's bared skin. He wants to touch, but more than that, he wants Luke to touch him back. And he wants Luke inside him. 

What he doesn't want is for Luke to be careful, but even now, as out of control as he knows he is, Han knows better than to say so. He's already asking for enough, and the reckless lack of concern Luke's always had for himself has never extended to others. But there's something in the way Luke looks at him, as though all Han's desires are stamped across his flesh, in plain view for Luke to read, that makes him think Luke already knows. 

And Luke's darkened gaze is holding Han down still, despite the momentary conflict that flickers inside him. But even as he feels it, Han recognizes that it's more of a false conflict, borne as it is from his long-held fantasies over Luke. His past imagination has always placed Han in total control of himself, because sex has never been any other way for him. For the reality to be so different is confounding, but instead of throwing him, it brings an intense flush of heat to the surface of his skin. His cock is a painful, insistent press against his constricting clothing.

Luke leans over him to slide Han's shirt over his shoulders and down his arms, and it's only because Han's caught up in studying Luke's face that he sees Luke freeze, just for the tiniest of seconds. And he sees the flash of pain in Luke's eyes, just for the briefest of moments, and knows why. Chewbacca's blood is there on Han's skin. Blackened, crusted patches and flaking rivulets that traverse the length of his arms and disappear beneath the waistband of his pants. Han's grief has been kept at bay, but he's never stopped being aware of its presence, waiting for his surface strength to dissolve under the agony of waiting and fearing. What Han's forgotten about is that Chewie is special to Luke too, and that Luke will also be grieving for a friend, but he's buried it beneath his concern for Han and his need to put everyone else before himself.

The knowledge brings Han up from his prone position, a rapid movement that startles himself as much as it startles Luke. Then his hands are either side of Luke's jaw, and he's kissing him with something that feels like desperation as much as need. He wants to apologize, yet again, but he can't tear his lips away from Luke's and the only sound he can make is a low moan, deep in his throat.

The buzz of Han's comlink wrenches them apart, its low-level beeping a deafening contrast to the sudden, pressing silence from Luke, and Han's complete inability to respond. They both stare, locked into stunned immobility, at the flashing machine just inches away on the bed.

Han tries to speak, but his mouth is all-of-a-sudden too dry to form the words properly. They come out in a stilted rasp. "Don't think I– can you...?"

It seems to take forever for Luke to react to Han's plea, but eventually he nods, just once, and reaches for the comlink. He doesn't take his eyes away from Han's until he glances down to read the tiny screen on the communicator. "Sa-Kyruua," he says. He doesn't look up again.

Han doesn't reply. He sits there, unmoving, whilst all his blood seems to turn to ice. He's aware of Luke clambering down off the bed, taking the comlink over to the furthest corner of the room, where Han can barely hear the conversation that's taking place. It doesn't matter, because it's all there in his mind anyway.

He doesn't hear Luke end the communication, and he's only aware that it's all over when he feels the mattress dip with Luke's return. The hands that Luke places on Han's face feel burning hot against his cold skin. Han closes his eyes.

Luke's voice is soft, barely a whisper against Han's cheek. "It's okay. It's okay. They've done it. They've saved him." When he repeats his last words, Han hears the falter, like the quietest echo of all the turmoil Han's gone through since the disastrous pick-up. "They've... saved him."

But the words don't make any sense to Han, because he's still in that dark place where Chewie's gone for good, along with their never-to-be-resolved argument about freedom and life debts. So he has no response for Luke. Not yet, and not even when Luke rests his forehead against Han's and stays there, quietly, unspeaking, until his words have had a chance to sink in.

When they do, Han's first instinct isn't celebration, but bleak denial. "How can they know? She said it'd be hours."

Luke pulls back, his gaze latching onto Han's. "They do know. Sa-Kyruua told me there's no doubt." Luke's voice is oddly flat. Exhausted, like he's battled an emotional storm that has taken his last reserves of energy. "The monitors showed him fighting back before they'd even started on the main surgery."

Luke's smile is quiet, a pale imitation of all those glorious, room-lightening smiles that accompanied Luke in their earlier days. Han feels the automatic tug of regret, and the old, constant yearning to bring those days back. Because, since his harsh awakening in Jabba's palace, he's seen very few of those wide, innocent smiles. These days they're tempered by too much knowledge and too much introspection.

"Besides," Luke says, continuing to talk into Han's silence, "you know he wouldn't let go of that life debt so easily. And he's not gonna waste a chance to say you've saved his life all over again!"

Han knows it must be true. Luke wouldn't say so otherwise. But he's spent the past few hours trying to build these layers of protection. Trying to create something – anything –that will contain the emotions that Han doesn't want to accept. It's almost become involuntary, and it feels impossible to let it go. He attempts to smile back at Luke, but the expression feels odd, like he hasn't smiled in years. 

"If that furball even mentions another life debt I'll... I'll–" Han's words choke in his throat, stymied by his self-defensive shield. "I need to see him." The words are a repeat of his earlier, futile, entreaty to Sa-Kyruua. Only this time, he shouldn't need to say goodbye.

"I know," Luke says. He's silent for several long moments like he's trying to collect his thoughts. "He's in a bacta isolation unit," he says at last. "We can only see him through an outer viewscreen. When they move him to a standard tank we'll be able to see him properly."

Han tells himself he can do this. He can discuss the practicalities and the where and when of his friend's recovery. It feels safe. Easy. And it avoids the minefield of his own emotional response and how he's going to deal with the guilt that's going to trip him up from now on every time he catches a glimpse of his own reflection. He doesn't know when he'll be ready for that. "How long are they gonna keep him in isolation?"

"Overnight, at least. They can monitor him closely there."

"So there's still a danger he might–"

"No!" Luke interrupts. "She said the danger was over. It's gonna be a long recovery – they just want to get it right."

Han nods slowly, but it's more an attempt to appease Luke's searching gaze than an acceptance of Luke's words. Somewhere inside him there are the responses he needs. The emotions he sealed away, in expectation of news of a very different kind. Hope. Relief. Elation. He feels them, but he can't yet embrace them. He tries to explain, because this is Luke, and he can't be fobbed off by anything but the truth. "S'just... it doesn't seem real," he says. "I guess that's why I need to see him."

Luke touches Han's face again, a fleeting graze of his fingertips. Han wants to reach out, grasp Luke's fingers, because maybe that warm, real contact will let him believe, but he can't move quickly enough and Luke's hand has dropped to his side again.

"I understand," Luke replies. "Why don't you talk to Sa-Kyruua first? She can tell you everything she knows. I think it'll help."

Han gives a wry twist of his lips. "Might help me. Not so sure about her."

Luke gives a light laugh, but it doesn't cover the strain Han can tell is there. "You weren't _that_ unfriendly. Well, no more than normal. Stay here and call her – I'll go find the others."

Luke shuffles away from him and slides down from the bed, hands automatically checking the fastening of his weapons belt. "What's the betting Chewie turns out to be an even worse patient than you?"

Han watches him for a couple of seconds, one set of buried emotions battling a different, but equally buried, set. He's got no idea what to think or feel, other than confusion as to why, when life's taken an unexpectedly upwards turn, nothing feels right. He homes in on the one comment of Luke's that's bothering him the most. "What?"

"You haven't got the best track record for staying in recovery," Luke explains, as he straightens his tunic and starts on the fasteners. "Or for being polite to medical droids. I can't see Chewie doing what he's told either!"

Han edges towards the side of the bed. "No – not that bit. The thing about leaving..."

Luke looks momentarily nonplused. "Oh... I suggested you stay here and call the doctor."

"But you're gonna go?"

For a few heartbeats Luke says nothing, just stares back at Han. "It's not because... I meant, I could go and find the guys. Let them know the news. They'll all be waiting to hear."

Han reaches back. Retrieves his comlink that Luke returned and holds it out. "We could tell 'em with this."

"Sure, but I thought... maybe you'd want to–"

"Wanna what? Pretend nothing's happened? Forget about the last half hour now I don't need a shoulder to cry on?"

There's another marked silence before Luke replies. "I don't know," he says slowly. "When things are difficult, people sometimes do and say things they wouldn't normally do."

Han pulls a face. "Extreme circumstances call for extreme measures you mean, or some other crap like that?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Han pulls himself up from the bed, takes a couple of steps towards Luke. "And you think that covers this?" He waves a hand around vaguely on that last word. It's hardly necessary to be more specific – they both know what he's referring to.

"I don't know what to think," Luke admits. "It... seemed to come from nowhere."

"Well it didn't." Han knows his tone is too abrupt and explains nothing. He doesn't want to go back to being confrontational, but he's kissed Luke now. More than kissed him. If he has to watch him walk away he knows it'll feel like one emotional punch too many. "Least, not from me," he adds, because it occurs to him that Luke may have been clarifying his own actions, not those of Han.

But Luke isn't making any further progress towards the door. In fact, he's doing nothing, just standing there and staring back at Han. "What d'you mean?" he asks, at last. "You've never shown any interest before."

Not outwardly, Han concedes, but he's still amazed by how wrong Luke is. "You ain't exactly been approachable lately," he says, even though he admits, privately, that he's got no right to be defensive. It feels like another trait he can't shake off, as though he's trying to lay the blame for everything at Luke's feet. The truth is, he's just too tired to say the right things. "And you did kinda ask me what I wanted, remember?"

There's another pause before Luke shakes his head, though it seems more in puzzlement than rebuttal. "If I'd done that the day before, you wouldn't have said what you did."

"No," Han admits. "You're right, people do some strange stuff when they're not thinkin' straight."

Luke looks away from him, seemingly studying the floor for several seconds before he speaks. "If you weren't thinking straight, and it never would've happened normally, then what's the problem with me leaving?"

Luke's words are on-the-surface casual, but when he lifts his gaze from the floor and fastens it onto Han, it's obvious that they're a poor reflection of whatever Luke's feeling inside. Han's reminded, yet again, of the blatant disregard he's shown for his friend's feelings. Guilt resurfaces, but a big part of the problem is that Han's never reacted well to feeling guilty. It's always made him more confrontational, which makes him feel more guilty, which leads to further belligerence, to which those on the receiving end don't always react that well. Luke's usually the exception, but Han's made it all too personal this time. It's a vicious circle and Han knows it, but he's after answers rather than the satisfaction of a knee-jerk response. 

"D'you wanna leave? Is that what you're saying?"

Luke sighs. "I wasn't gonna go because I was angry, or upset, or trying to get away from you! Wasn't it obvious enough to you before that I actually wanted to stay?"

"That'd work if you weren't you," Han mutters.

"If I wasn't... _what_?" Luke closes his eyes. Scrubs at his face with the palm of a hand. His whole demeanor shouts bone-tiredness to Han, but the gesture itself conveys only confusion.

"You don't do stuff like other people," Han starts, even though he knows he's digging himself an even deeper hole. "What I mean is, you don't look out for yourself, 'n I..." Frustrated, he shakes his head. "Hell... I give up. Just leave, like you said."

"You make it sound like I'm walking out and never coming back!"

Han shrugs in a pretense of nonchalance. "Maybe you are. Maybe you _should._ "

"We're back to that?" Luke asks, but his tone seems too weary to manage the disbelief Han knows is there. "Why?"

"Because maybe that's the right thing to do!" Han growls. "Forget about everything that's happened. Forget I ever confessed to anything! Forget the way I feel, and the way I've felt for goddamn years of you not even noticing!"

"What was I–"

Han gives Luke no chance to speak. He's pulled the stopper out of something, even if he's not entirely sure of what. He knows his words are going to come out regardless, and the only way Luke's not going to hear him is if he walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.

"So let's go back to how it was before, huh? You can go back to pretending to talk to me while saying goddamn _nothing_ , and you can shut me out and act like the past five years don't mean a fucking thing!"

"Of course they mean something to me! I told you I'm sorry–"

"Yeah, but it ain't down to you to be sorry." Han retrieves his shirt from where it lies discarded, half on and half off the bed, simultaneously shaking it out and talking. "This mess is down to me, so let _me_ put it right!"

During the short pause when Han draws breath to shrug himself into his shirt, Luke manages to speak. "We've already been through this, and we're both to blame in different ways."

"Nah, don't try to make me feel better! I've given you an out, so why not use it?" 

"I don't want an out!" Luke snaps. "Don't you get it? I don't want to leave and I don't want to forget what just happened here! Or is that what you want?"

Han takes a deep breath, looking for a degree of calm. Luke looks almost as close to the edge as Han feels. "No, that's not what I want. I wanna know it'll work out okay. That's all."

Han barely has time to see the flash in Luke's eyes before Luke moves. Before Han can work out what's happening, Luke has a hand wrapped around the back of Han's neck. "It _will_ work out," Luke says. "It _has_ worked out." He pulls Han's head down and kisses him.

The vehemence of the kiss makes them both stumble, and for the second time that day Han's back slams into the wall behind him, and there's the dull thud of his head hitting the stucco a little too hard. Luke tries to steady him and Han knows that the grip Luke has on his upper arms will leave bruises to accompany the lump he'll have on his head. Han doesn't care. Wouldn't care if he was bruised from head to foot because Luke was trying to make a point, and Han knows it's worked. 

The release of emotion is like walking into a storm. He screws his eyes up for a moment, needing to ride it out. It's all there around him. How close they came to losing Chewie, and how close Han came to losing Luke. Losing himself. But now he can feel it all. Relief and happiness. Belief that his friend has survived. And the guilt and fear and self-recrimination are shut behind that same door that previously held prisoner his hopes and his dreams and his positivity.

And now there's the future. Still as turbulent as ever. Still strewn with the inevitable pitfalls and perplexities of having Luke in his life. But it's there, and it's worth every difficult hour to come.

He opens his eyes. Latches onto Luke's gaze and knows Luke's understood. "Yeah, " Han says. "It's worked out."

  


~end~

**Author's Note:**

> This was a long-standing WIP that I only finished because I joined the WIP Big Bang on LiveJournal. It seems I need deadlines, so thanks to the mods for major encouragement!


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